


Propers Are Cold Comfort

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Break Up, Inspired by Music, M/M, No Sequel, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is no planned fix-it to this story.</p></blockquote>





	Propers Are Cold Comfort

Author: blcwriter  
Title: Propers Are Cold Comfort  
Words: 1000  
Prompt: Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone, a submission to Team Jones for voting to be its Ship Wars prompt 2 submission at [](http://st-respect.livejournal.com/profile)[**st_respect**](http://st-respect.livejournal.com/) . [](http://lindmere.livejournal.com/profile)[**lindmere**](http://lindmere.livejournal.com/) 's amazing [The Days and Hours](http://lindmere.livejournal.com/12471.html) was the winner and you should read it right NOW, btw.  
Beta: [](http://hitlikehammers.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hitlikehammers.livejournal.com/)**hitlikehammers**  
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy  
Rating: PG-13 (language)  
Disclaimer: If I claimed that I owned this, tribbles would be the least of my troubles.

\---

His Dad had a thing for Motown-- Nana used to play the vids of his parents dancing together, all old-fashioned and stuff.

Mom never listened when he could hear, but she had them all loaded onto her PADD. He'd learned the harmonics by heart, though back then he'd thought them sappy and stupid. But he knew, when Mom was alone-- she would listen and watch the holos of her and Dad being happy like she never was around Jim. It just seemed like one more weird adult thing he'd never get.

Now, though-- his Dad was a man of discretion and taste and he hadn't given his Mom enough slack. He sipped some whisky, edited a line in the budget, left his parents' Motown on repeat.

\--

Bones' expression was sour-- suspicious. It was his default expression-- and Jim? It hurt too fucking much to go on. He'd never quite believed, with all of his bullshit neuroses or whatever Bones wanted to call them that he'd be the one-- and yet, here he was. Cracks about Jim's past lovers, comments about crewmembers aboard who wanted into his pants, averted gazes whenever Jim said or did anything nice-- why would Jim would lie about _this_?

"You're going to believe what you want. Nothing I say, nothing I do will change your mind." He stood-- wiped cold sweaty hands on his pants. He could kill with steady hands in any of four dozen ways, maybe more. He still couldn't make Bones believe that he loved him, couldn't make him believe that he'd choose Bones over everyone-- everything-- else.

"You get it out of your system," he said, never minding that his voice shook like it didn't when he told Sulu to blow hostiles out of the air. "Fuck whomever you want, convince yourself you're not an old man who isn't worth my attention."

Only then did he move and pin Bones to the wall. He watched his eyes widen-- hazel, moss green, cedar brown, Jim's everything and yet nothing that wanted anything to do with Jim and his love. He kissed him once, softly.

"I'll wait. You might not believe it now, might not believe it in a month, hell, even six, but I will, damnit. I'll wait for you to come to your senses, get over whatever the fuck that damned ex of yours broke in you that you can't just fucking believe _someone might actually care_."

 _And I always will_. He didn't say that part out loud-- the point was to convince Bones, not scare him away.

"I'll wait, Bones." The doctor convulsively swallowed. "Whether you believe it or not, you are worthy of love. You know where to find me." Jim didn't kiss him again-- he'd cry if he did. Instead, he walked out of the CMO's quarters, feeling like he'd just left his only real home.

\--

His door chimed.

"Come."

Uhura entered in civvies, carrying a PADD under her arm. Her head tipped at the music and a smile curved her mouth.

"I didn't know you liked Motown."

"My Dad was a fan. My Mom less so, but then after, well-- you hang on to things for memory's sake." At least, that was Jim's supposition. Winona wouldn't really discuss it-- she never discussed anything about George. Jim had determined that no matter how much it hurt to talk about stuff, he'd answer direct questions.

"I had some questions about the trade conference but if you're busy," she said, demurring.

Jim waved a hand at the couch. "I was working, but I could use a shift in perspective."

She nodded and sat, asked her questions as they jawed over the conference arrangements, drank the whisky he poured.

"Good whisky."

"Jameson's. Irish. I like it," he said.

"None of that Woodford Reserve that costs more than my vintage stilettos," she said, a smile curving her mouth. Jim snorted-- he'd never seen all the fuss.

"Your legs look great in those shoes you bought at the last space station," he said, saving his work and standing to stretch out his back.

"I heard he has another date with Ensign Ramirez," she said softly.

"Heard that too." Another stretch popped those cervical vertebra he'd crunched back on that swamp planet. They hadn't sat right, even though Bones set them after fixing the slash from the thing with the claws. After the way he wouldn't look Jim in the eyes, he hadn't gone back for more analgesics.

The song shifted from the Supremes to Miss Franklin and his comms officer laughed. "This one's my favorite." She uncurled from her seat to come take Jim's hands, then started to dance.

" _Give me my propers when you get home_ ," she sang, smiling, and yeah, that was what Jim had been thinking. It made this song his least favorite of all.

He dipped her when the music demanded, gave her a smile, made her laugh-- she was trying. His bridge officers all tried and it just sucked-- well, besides Bones. He at least was having some fun-- it was what he'd told Bones to do.

"You did the right thing," she finally said, gathering her PADD and swiping back a few strands that'd escaped her tight ponytail.

"I think so," he said. "The delegates will do better with personal translators, not the machines," he said. So much for answering direct questions.

She leaned up and kissed his cheek since he'd escorted her to his door. "That too."

The door hissed shut, his quarters silent behind her. Apropos, the song shifted to Bill Withers, singing about his lost sunshine.

He didn't asked the computer about Bones' location-- he didn't look up the doctor's next duty shift. He went back to his budgets, finished his whisky. Before bed, he made a note in his PADD for Scotty take a look at his climate controls sometime soon-- the light filters had taken on a grey tinge or something and the heater vents weren't working quite right.

**Author's Note:**

> There is no planned fix-it to this story.


End file.
